One Man’s Trash

The last four weeks have been, as usual, eventful. Notably, I had a colonic. Or a colon cleanse. Or colon hydrotherapy. They have tons of expressions to make you feel better about, you know…

…That. And I’m telling you about it not to brag – no sir, nothing worth bragging about in this case – or to humor, but to encourage. To encourage you to be free and confident enough in who you are to brag on what God has done for you, to laugh at yourself and enjoy your life, and to encourage you to open the door wider to Him. That is all I am simply doing.

It is through the façade of social media that we can pretend to be perfect people who have no lows, only highs. I share both with you so that together, we can own how imperfect we are, and then let Christ perfect us. When I doubt the power in doing such a thing, someone will inevitably reach out and tell me they were struggling with the same thing, and we end up ministering to one another. It helps to be honest about our disappointments, and then dare to speak out in faith. And finally I share because I’m collecting evidence for my next career as someone who travels and speaks about how much God loves you as a living. We will need stories to share with the people, including the time I could have prayed for self-control over my diet and the energy to work out more, but I took an earthly shortcut and got a colonic instead. And how totally, totally stupid that was.

One thing you have to know about me is that when I set my mind to something, it will get done. And if God has told me to do it – not the case this time around – I will never ever stop until it manifests. Just ask my parents who live in Alabama and are travelling to New York in two weeks for our wedding. I have more will than the king of the jungle when I want to, and the truth in that statement comes to light a little further down into this post. This particular time I wanted to lose weight. So I scoured the internet for a coupon to a small, out of the way clinic for a forty-five minute session of cleansing that they promised would release toxins, stress, bring clarity to my life, and help me drop a few pounds.

It did absolutely none of those things. Women, save your money. If it worked, everyone would say yes to it. But it doesn’t. The best part about the whole thing was walking into the office, meeting Mayer, a small Asian woman with large perfect teeth, and filling out paperwork on a large leather couch. When I was done, Mayer, whose name reminded me of John Mayer, took me into the back room where she had me undress and then put on a hospital robe. She helped me get set up, put on music – and you’re gonna think I’m making this up but I promise you it was an instrumental version of “No Ordinary Love” by Sade – and then explained what each knob was and why this was all a great thing.

I tried to relax, stared at the ceiling and listened to Mayer softly gush about what I should expect. “Uh huh,” I said. I have no idea what Mayer was talking about. I had gotten too distracted thinking about the irony of her name being Mayer and me wanting my body to be a wonderland by the time this wedding rolls around.

I inhaled like she instructed, she touched my butt – and that’s all I’m gonna say about that.

One of my favorite ministry groups, The Gathering Oasis (which is totally worth a lengthy google and listen) has encouraged their fellow sisters and brothers in Christ to read one Proverb a day during the month of March, ending with Proverb 31 on the 31st day of the month. Somewhere around day 9 or 10 I ran across a Proverb that said “Like a pig with a gold ring in its snout is a woman with no discretion.” – I’m pretty sure there’s a thin line between me telling you this and the Proverb, so I’ll shut up now and switch topics.

If I were a lion, I’d be dead. The same is true if I were born a bullfrog. Both species expire at thirty years old. They roar, they jump, they live – and then they die at a point when a mere girl like myself is having her best year yet. Do their friends join together and split the cost of throwing a “Before You Go” party? Do they celebrate what’s been accomplished in thirty years or sweep the whole subject under the jungle rug until one morning they show up at the den or pond, and there’s Greg, and he’s dead. Do they die while out on a date for a mate, or do they cease to exist while lying in their beds?

You wonder why I think of such things and I wonder why you don’t. I know why I do – because I have time to do such things. Or at least I did, on my birthday no less. I showed up to work in a new blouse that I bought for twelve dollars, pink pants that cost at least eight times as much, and a smile on my face. The smile was forced. I felt awful, but more like a tired and achy awful, the kind that you have no excuse for. So to work I went, trying my best to thank each person who greeted me with excitement.

An hour later I was vomiting in the bathroom, watching Tylenol and yogurt and coffee pour forth, and once it was done I felt amazing. I chalked it up to a bad breakfast, and then agreed to have a hearty Mexican lunch with my co-worker. By the time we made it to the restaurant I was weak again, but I fought through it. He paid the bill for a meal I didn’t eat, and insisted on waiting for me while I ran to the restroom. I never had time to pull my coat off, never really made it to the toilet, and promptly got sick all over again, and all over myself.

The next thing I remember is waking up in the cab my co-worker put me in, paying the bill, and wishing to die. The guest who stayed with us the previous night had politely folded her sheets and placed our air mattress against the wall. I kicked it down, pulled it to the bathroom where it then laid half in and half out of the doorway, and then threw my whole body on top of it. And that’s where I stayed for the next three days. On an air mattress, violently ill, eventually with some ginger ale that my roommate brought home. Every few minutes my phone would vibrate with a loving text message from a friend. It was absolutely unbearable.

On the second day of sickness I thought of Greg the lion. Greg had only lived thirty years, so why did I expect more out of life? And it was brought to my remembrance that Greg was a lion and I am a human being with God’s Spirit dwelling inside of me. I looked up at the ceiling and mumbled, “I’m healed.” My stomach cramped, so I said it again. It is in the midst of turning thirty and wearing dirty clothes, having uncombed hair, unbrushed teeth, and no one around to hand you the remote so that you can watch something other than the Jodi Arias trial that you know what you are made of when you hear yourself speak God’s promises over your life.

Greg only lived thirty years. Jesus really got going at thirty years. – You decide.

Already made my decision.

Written to: “Let It Whip” by the Dazz Band, “Skyfall” by Adele, “Higher” (acoustic) by Hillsong, and “Friends In Low Places” by Garth Brooks.

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